I glared at the oncoming road. "I hate my readers."
Allie chortled and drove on. No more really needed to be said. She knows.
"I really, really do."
You routinely call me, among other things, a fascist Bush apologist and a bleeding heart pinko. I've long considered my personal Holy Grail to be a single post that elicits both responses. So far, the closest I've come has been consecutive posts. I'll keep trying.
Monday's Four Things post achieved a sort of fame, though, in that it inspired seemingly opposite reader vitriol. No one could pass your tests, read some. No wonder you're a miserable fuck. Yet others took exception to the notion that anyone they have ever met would lie to them, fail to stop an animal from being abused, or have friends whose affection amounted to no less than a Nobel Peace Prize in homage.
To the former group, I say that these are indicators, not tests. If this were a test, I would fail too. There are no scores; there's no passing or failing. Get over your notions of judgment and think of this as anthropological observation. It's where someone falls on the continuum of human failing, and how they respond, that interests me. Over time, I've come to believe these four bits of data about a person tell me far more than the sum of their parts.
To the latter group, I obviously have nothing to offer. Go in peace. Or in contempt. The important thing, really, is that you just go.